


Angel

by nerdqueenenterprise



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Mentions of Death, Mentions of religion, Nobody Dies, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/pseuds/nerdqueenenterprise
Summary: Fighting death is like fighting windmills, especially during the night shift, but it's all Hugh has.





	Angel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gracieminabox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracieminabox/gifts).



> based on a conversation i had with [gracie](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/gracieminabox), and then it all just kinda.... happened :D

The good thing about working the graveyard shift at East Mercy Hospital, Hugh reflects as he’s running up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, plaster cracking and breaking underneath his shoes, is that you’ll never have to fear getting out of shape.

Also he gets five bucks more per hour, and that’s almost worth the three story tumble he almost took earlier when the handhold gave way, because it means he can keep a roof over his head.

And furthermore - the door to station C2 opens and closes with a bang, because while it’s 2am it’s not like Hugh has a choice, not when he wants to save a life - if you arrive completely out of breath on the children’s station and then have to save a patient with incredibly bad odds, it won’t hurt so much when you lose them.

The girl is small and pale and her skin is grey, her hair unwashed, and she’s alone in the room, no parent there to keep her company, the nurse’s diagnosis immediately turning him to action, and he begins resuscitation efforts while she’s already called away for the next emergency.

The girl isn’t cold yet, but there’s no heartbeat in her thin chest, the machines beeping in protest at the loss of life.

She could be Hugh’s niece, with wonder and adoration big in her eyes whenever he manages to send his sister enough money for them to have a hot meal.

She could be the little girl in the apartment below Hugh’s, carefully walking their old grey dog and waiting for every labored step he takes.

If she would wake up, and open her eyes and smile, angels would sing, surely, the room bright and warm with her laughter.

The walls are pressing in cold and dark and something slimy and freezing is coiling in Hugh’s guts.

He pumps her chest with more desperation, switching to giving her air, then back to pressing down on her chest, a rib or two cracking and icy fire burning in his muscles, but there’s nobody he could switch with.

He’s this tiny little girl’s last hope, savior and executioner in one.

She chokes a little, the tiniest trickle of blood showing up at her lips, but her chest is still. Spinal reflex, then.

Maybe there’s still hope, Hugh thinks dizzily, because it may have been five minutes, but if she dies he’s not sure he can carry on.

The world is narrowed to just them, and her fingers on her delicate skin. 

But then it stops.

 

That disorienting feeling when the steam train stops too rapidly and you’re left without the speed, body reeling, because the world literally stopped spinning; and the room is dipped into a different light, if it could be, indifferent. Neither harsh nor warm nor cold.

Hugh’s lungs stop working, and he gasps uselessly for air before he realizes he doesn’t need it anymore.

And the room is full, stifling and too small to hold all the people, a single -

Not a person.

Hugh’s eyes see but he doesn’t understand.

He? It? With wings, and - like electricity, and a face. There.

Like a mortal, and a scoff at mortality all the same.

Tears soak through the material of Hugh’s scrubs, the material older than him and his sadness older than time, unearthly glee mingling with the terror of a deer caught in headlights.

It’s here.

He needs to drop to his knees in veneration, lay himself bare and beg for forgiveness, for mercy, express his love, heart breaking in his chest.

There’s no light in the room, and yet it’s completely lit up, and the - the - the - the

_ Angel. _

Thinking the word is like a burden falling off of Hugh. Angel.

Its feet are bare, it’s dressed in dark blue, the fabric looking softer than anything Hugh has ever felt, and its wings are half spread, marvelous, beyond words, indescribable, and so Hugh, ever human, tries for a description. Like a swan’s, but paler than white, translucent, but starkly visible and opaque, swords and caresses in one, like thunder on the clearest winter night, crystalline and warm. Its eyes are blue, like lightning and forget-me-nots, and it’s -

It’s so remarkably human that it feels like a punch to Hugh’s guts.

It opens its mouth and Hugh is terrified.

    “What are you doing?” it asks, tilting its head, eyes flitting between the girl and Hugh. Its voice is surprisingly warm, sounding almost like a human man, if they had the force of creation behind them.

    “I’m saving her.” It’s the truth, but it’s dragged out of him like a worm that’s set hold on his heart.

    “Why are you even trying?”

Whatever spell was on Hugh snaps.

    “Because she deserves to  _ live _ ! Everyone does! It’s not her fault her parents can either not afford or be bothered to pay for better care! It’s not her fault she’s sick!” He bursts out, half desperation, half anger.

The angel chuckles. “She’s beyond saving by your hands. And why do you care? You’re all mortal. You’re all going to die.”

Hugh stares at it, and then, out of spite or maybe out of the lingering desperation, he starts again, pumps her chest, gives her air, while that creature watches on, head tilted curiously. 

    “You mortals are so perplexing,” it says. “You’re just decaying matter. That’s it. You have a limited ability to slow the rate of decay, and quite a broad ability to expedite it, and yet you put so much energy into the preservation of… this.” 

Hugh stops again, looking up at him, anger curling uselessly in his stomach before being dissipated by a force that isn’t of this world.

    “Stop being angry. You can’t change what’s going to happen.”

    “But you can,” Hugh hears himself say. “You can help her.”

The angel gives another curious look, and suddenly it comes closer, moving around the bed to stand next to Hugh, massive wings arching above Hugh’s head while it assesses the girl.

    “She could have a life,” Hugh pleads. “She could get well, she could go to school and have friends and laugh and - she could have a life.”

Up close, the angel is even more terrifying and soothing.

    “Yes, she could. Or she has an accident once she steps out of this hospital. Do you want to risk that?”

    “Please. Can’t you - can’t you be her guardian angel? Please.”

The angel’s eyes are looking straight into Hugh’s soul, laying him bare before its ageless gaze.

    “I’m not for her.”

    “What’s that supposed to mean? You - you’re an angel, you  _ have to help her _ .”

    “I thought that if you knew what would happen, you would let them go more easily.”

    “What?”

It extends one pale hand, and Hugh watches the way it caresses the girl’s forehead. There’s an almost there touch at his right shoulder, and he doesn’t dare look.

    “This time,” the angel whispers.

 

 

The world lurches into spinning again, and Hugh almost stumbles.

A little breath lifts the girl’s chest, and she blinks in confusion. The room is dark, the walls are damp, and Hugh’s lungs beg for oxygen.

He breathes.

    “Doctor?” a small voice asks, and he meets dark eyes alight with life.

 

 

He saves another life that night, and when he comes home, there’s an almost perfectly circular patch of the purest white gold and blue on his right shoulder. Hugh runs his fingers around it and can barely breathe.

 

 

His patients get well more easily, and he tries not to notice, brush away the comments about how it is a miracle.

 

 

The little girl has nowhere to go, no parents to be found, but there’s enough space to squeeze in a second bed in Hugh’s apartment, and he can’t help but look at her in wonder every time she sleeps.

And when his sister finally finds a job and can feed her children again, Hugh prays for the first time in a long time, to a God he’d stopped believing in, and asks for a name to give his thanks to. It’s delivered to him on the most delicate parchment, and he carries it in his wallet.

_ Paul. _

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys liked this! please leave me a comment if you did! it would mean the world to me <3  
> or check out some of [my other work](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdqueenenterprise/works) (especially [ a hundred sunrises](http://www.archiveofourown.org/works/12767376/chapters/29129046), my other au baby).
> 
> also come say hi on [my tumblr](http://www.shroom-boi.tumblr.com)!


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